Let It Snow...: The Prince who Stole Christmas. Leslie Kelly

shook her head. “Yeah, sure. Because there’s so much valuable stuff that could be damaged or broken.”

      Sarcasm was common in his world, too, but he quite liked how she did it.

      “Fifteen thousand dollars,” she repeated to herself.

      “That was almost all the money I had. The, uh, the people in my village back home took up a collection to send me here,” he said quickly, realizing this was quite a lot of money.

      She scrunched her brow. “Isn’t Barcelona a big city?”

      A misfire. Damnation, he should have studied his back-story more. Aware that the best way to avoid answering an uncomfortable question was to shrug it off, he shrugged. “It is therefore more than I can afford to lose,” he told her, which wasn’t exactly true, but wasn’t totally a lie.

      The amount was nothing overall, but in terms of his presence here in New York, it was important. He had brought only a certain amount of cash from the vault at home—his father always keeping a supply of various currencies on hand for traveling expenses—and had to make it last. Philip couldn’t start all over with another housing situation without coming perilously close to the limit of his funds. That would leave him having to sell something—possibly one of Shelby’s bejeweled rings, which Philip would of course replace. But it would hardly be worth the man’s whining.

      “I can’t afford that,” she said, sounding on the verge of tears.

      He hated that her brother had done this to her, and thought for a moment of telling her he’d reconsidered and would leave. The money truly meant nothing to him.

      But she might. And he simply couldn’t walk away without knowing for sure.

      “You don’t have to,” he told her, reaching out and taking her hand in his. A strong hand, but still soft, pretty.

      She tensed for a moment, staring at their fingers twined together on the counter, then relaxed.

      “So it is settled,” he said, sure she’d begun to accept the inevitability of it. “We will stay.”

      “You can’t seriously want to.”

      “Of course we want to.”

      “The place is a dump!”

      “A…”

      “It’s a wreck. A mess. A ruin.”

      “I am aware it’s not in the best condition. It needs a bit of work, but I’m sure my… friends and I can make do.”

      “You almost sound as if you like the idea of having to stay here.”

      “I do.”

      “Why? I mean, there are better locations, and definitely better buildings.”

      He couldn’t tell her the truth, couldn’t possibly admit that he was staying because of her. Because she was in danger. Because she’d fought him and confronted him and disliked him—and yet still kissed him as if she needed his breath to survive. Because she was, right now, rubbing the soft pad of her thumb against his, sending frissons of sensation through him as he imagined all the other ways, other places, he wanted her touch.

      So he settled for replying, “It’s where I need to be, and you can’t pay me back, so I’m making the best of it.”

      She blinked rapidly, nibbled her lip and pulled her hand away to clench it with her other one. Finally, as if not quite believing she was saying it, she agreed.

      “All right, then. If you’re completely sure, I guess you’ve got yourself a place to live for the month. But just until the New Year.”

      Actually, he didn’t have quite that much time. He’d lost days in travel, and would on the way home, too. So he had only a little over three weeks before he’d have to start heading back to Elatyria. Less than one month of freedom before his responsibilities would take over his life.

      Not much time to find the woman of his dreams, one he could love for the rest of his days.

      Or, in case he’d already found her, not much time to make her fall in love with him in return.

       3

      ALTHOUGH PHILIP WAS certain Claire was the only woman he wanted to get to know, his two compatriots insisted he follow his original plan to meet as many as possible before pursuing anyone. He’d had to keep an open mind and at least allow the possibility that he’d meet someone else who interested him more.

      So, despite wanting to do nothing but find reasons to bump into the lady, which he did a few times—or better yet, find reasons to kiss her again—he had to leave the apartment and get out and about in New York. He visited museums, rode the subway, consumed horrible coffee in dingy cafés and excellent Scotch in swanky restaurants. He was flirted with, propositioned, and even argued over by two women at a club—yet his heart didn’t so much as skip a beat for any other female he set eyes on. Only her.

      Whenever he wasn’t out fulfilling his obligations to his kingdom and his family, he was at the apartment, fulfilling his vow to protect Claire. She didn’t know the Elatyrians were on guard. It seemed American women were touchy about being protected by a man.

      Philip kept watch from the stairs, or the back alley, or from across the street. Shelby had complained incessantly, especially about the cold, but Teeny was happy to help, since being a bodyguard was his job and his favorite thing to do. He would love for something to happen so he could crush someone, and Philip had had to physically drag him away from a taxi driver who’d paused in front of Claire’s shop for too long.

      After a few days, Philip began to relax his guard, feeling fairly confident they hadn’t overlooked any scurrilous characters lurking around, and he released his friends from their duty. But he didn’t release himself. He kept watching, not only because it was still possible she could be in danger, but because he’d rather stay here, getting to know her moment by stolen moment, than exchange a word with anyone else.

      Guarding her had given him the chance to see her in so many guises. Claire was always smiling and friendly toward her customers, patient with her annoyingly perky clerk. She looked happy when hanging colorful holiday decorations in the window, and he’d heard her humming Christmas tunes when closing up at night. She always bent down to eye level when a child entered the shop and usually slipped the little ones a free chocolate if their parents approved.

      Every morning, after the early rush and before the lunch-hour one, she would sit at the same small table in the front window. She’d slowly sip a cup of coffee, staring out at the world with a dreamy expression on her face, as if for those few minutes she was allowing herself to let go of her responsibilities and thinking only lovely thoughts.

      He liked those moments especially. Claire looked young and fragile and almost carefree, when usually she was so strong and hardworking. But always beautiful.

      Sometimes, though, she looked utterly weary. Like right now.

      Philip stood at the top of the staircase, watching from the shadows. Though not on constant vigil, he did like to keep an eye out after she closed up, wanting to be there when she made the short walk down the darkened hall from her store to her small apartment. Since she usually kept the back door to the building unlocked during the day for deliveries, he was always tense about these transition times and wanted to make sure she got there safely.

      Tonight, she looked exhausted, having worked a long, ten-hour shift by herself. Her eyes were shadowed, her face pale. She hadn’t even finished locking the shop door behind her before she was reaching up to tug at the clips in her bun, letting the thick mass of dark hair tumble down over her shoulders. It fell in a sea of curls to midway down her back, luscious and inviting, like the richest chocolate she sold.

      Philip made a small sound of approval, not even realizing he’d done it until she jerked her head and peered up into the shadows, her eyes wide, a little frightened.